Pip nodded. “And there’s nothing mysterious or sinister about that.”
“Why would the fakes wanta get rid ’a me?” Mags asked—then answered his own question. “Because I shamed ’em, they’re bullies, and fellers like that likes t’ get even.”
“Exactly.” Pip spread his hands. “Easy explanation, and you know what they say, the simplest answer is generally the right one.” He grabbed a plate of bacon and began shoveling it onto the plates of the others. “So let’s eat. I’m starving. We’ll let the nags discuss it among themselves, then pass it off to their Chosen.”
It was as if the gods were trying to muck up his life as badly as possible. The timing for this could not possibly have been worse. But he’d promised... and he wasn’t going to go back on a promise. Especially not now.
As always, the team was waiting for him to escort him into lunch. He approached them with his head hunched down. They weren’t going to like this.
“Where’s Lena? And Bear?” asked Gennie, craning her neck to see if they were somewhere in the corridor behind him.
Mags took a deep breath. “Lena got bumped on her Contest; she’s comin’ up right now an’ Bear got called away. That Councilor Chamjey is s’pposed t’ be answerin’ charges, an’ he took sick; reg’lar Healers can’t make heads nor tails of it, an’ they called Bear, so he’s down in city. We both promised Lena we’d be watchin’ her Contest. . . .”
He trailed off, just as Herald Setham approached their table.
“Mags, Dallen said you needed to speak with me?”
Mags blurted it all out a second time. “So—I know ’tis practice—” he said desperately. “But—”
“Hang all that, Lena’s our friend too!” said Gennie, her eyes flashing. “Herald Setham, we’ll make up the practice after supper, permission for the team to support Trainee Lena?”
Setham snorted. “You’d be damn poor friends if you hadn’t asked for it. Of course.”
Mags’ heart leapt—Gennie slapped him on the back, and the group of them surged down the hall and out the door. If anyone had been taking notes, how they surged might have given them pause, for they moved as a unit, without anyone getting in anyone else’s way... they really were a team, more and more as time went on.
They arrived at the Assembly Hall, where the Contest was taking place; Mags was the first one in, and he knew immediately that Lena was in trouble.
The Hall was absolutely silent, and Lena stood white-faced on the stage, clutching a lap-harp, with all eyes turned to her expectantly.
And it was clear she couldn’t move. She was terrified, and she had forgotten the words of what she was supposed to sing.
And Mags saw why at a single glace.
Right in front, sitting at the Judge’s table, was her father, Bard Tobias Marchand.
Looking unutterably bored, as if there was anywhere in the world he would rather be than there. Which was probably the case.
Oh bloody hell.
He didn’t even think; he just acted. Gathered his mind, and “shouted” at her.
She jumped a little, unfroze, and her eyes darted frantically around the room until he caught and held her gaze.
Convulsively, she did both.
She gulped in another. He didn’t say a thing about her Father. The last thing he wanted to do was make her freeze up again.
She knew the song, of course, it was the Midwinter Song. Everyone knew the song. She’d probably have points deducted for choosing so common a song, but that was better than failing because she froze.
Her voice whispered out over the crowd, sweet, a little melancholy, soft. Sweet enough that, though it was scarcely more than a whisper, people leaned forward to hear her.
With each verse, as each of the birds in the song added its voice to the Midwinter Call, her voice strengthened. And finally, with her eyes still closed, she added the fingering of the harp to the song as she came to the final verse, her voice soaring in triumphant rejoicing over the notes that fell like drops of melting ice in the warmth of the newly risen sun.
From the rear, the team broke out in wild applause, joined a heartbeat afterwards by the rest of the room.
Now she opened her eyes; caught Mags’ gaze, and mouthed the words “Thank you!”
Then she flushed and ran off the stage before the judges could dismiss her.
“All right,” Setham said, as the applause subsided. “That’s over with, and there is still plenty of time for practice. Move out, Team South! Quick time to the field! Let’s see those heels of yours.”
“Yes sir!” they all said, and hustled out of the room before he decreed any penalty for the last one on the field.
It was a particularly spirited practice, and one in which Mags was moving too fast to even think about Lena or Bear. The rest of the team played with exceptional energy and exuberance, and it was clear that they all were taking credit for Lena’s performance.
Damn right they should. He swelled with pride over it. She had seen them, and he knew it had made a difference to her. She’d been able to forget her father for a moment when she realized the entire team was there for her, not just him and Bear—even Herald Setham.
She wasn’t going to get great marks for this, he was pretty sure about that. She wouldn’t have fooled any of the judges about her stage-fright, and she hadn’t managed to unfreeze enough to play the harp until the end. The song itself was simple and didn’t show off much of anything except her lovely voice. No, she wasn’t going to come in at the top of the Contest.
But she wouldn’t be at the bottom, either.
When practice finished, they discovered that Herald Setham sent up the hill for food to replace the luncheon none of them had eaten. Swigging flasks of sweet, cold tea and munching on sausage rolls, they headed back up to the Collegium for their next classes or duties, all of them looking forward to seeing Lena at supper.
Mags was a little delayed by a note from Amily, asking him to meet her in the Heraldic Archives, and by the time he got to the dining hall, the team had surrounded Lena, though Bear was nowhere in sight.
“. . . I can’t believe you came out in the middle!” Pip was exclaiming indignantly. “You were so much better than that Bard that sang at my sister’s wedding!”
“Well, it’s a really common song,” Lena said, shyly, and went on to explain everything that Mags had already figured—given how often she had told over the scoring method to him and Bear.
“I still don’t think they scored you fairly,” Pip grumbled, and spotted Mags. “Heyla! Let’s get in there, those sausage rolls are wearing thin, and it’s beef night!”
The room was full of Bardic Trainees, all of them ravenous. Mags had a feeling that Lena was not the only one who’d had an uncertain stomach before the Contest. Several of them still looked a bit green. Some looked triumphant or smug, some looked depressed.
Lena excused herself for a moment and went over to console several of the depressed ones, who had tucked themselves together around an out-of-the-way table. After a moment, Gennie joined her, and soon had them laughing.
When they both returned, and the group took the usual table, Mags gave the girls a look that invited explanation.
Gennie grinned broadly.
